We leave a very happy Jak and Keira to find, as usual, the Dark Sage's mood to be quite the opposite.

Chapter 60: Two Rooms

It had been a month, perhaps more, since Gol had first found himself strapped to a bed in the palace infirmary, forced to endure the most pain he had ever been made to bear, physically, at least. And then finally, the Green Sage's daughter had come to him one morning, and, after scrutinizing him, his heart pounding in his chest as he awaited more of the usual, she decided that she had done all she could for him. And while he should've been relieved by this news, it only brought him to the conclusion that a new truth he had been dreading had finally been realized. He was no longer the Dark Eco Sage.

And as they dragged him back to the prison below the palace, he realized all the more the degree to which he had changed when he took notice of how they no longer required medication to keep him helpless. They had given him his last dose days ago, and yet he was still too weak and powerless to fight back. Now, he was just an old man that had lived far longer than he had any right to. And yet, even with the effects of the sedatives long worn off, he remained frail, his vision failing, even now, and he couldn't ignore the ache that had been creeping back into his joints, his arthritis returning after the Dark Eco had kept it at bay for three centuries.

And then he was tossed back into his prison cell with no care for compassion, a mercy he surely didn't deserve anyway. And unlike his first night in this dismal place, no manacles were needed to keep him here, just simple bars and stone walls like any other prisoner, the pearl and the figurines the only things to keep him company, their presence only a result of his pleading that the guards give him this one, small allowance.

He was not powerful anymore. The guards looked upon him with scorn, but no fear shone in their eyes, for he was only something to be hated now, and that was all. And it reminded him far too much of the time before his dear sister and he had decided to conquer the world, when people used to hate them before they even had a reason for it. But, now there was a reason for the hatred directed at him, and he proceeded to spend his time in this cold, cramped cell, going over these very reasons again and again, just as he had in the infirmary, but even now, after so many fruitless hours spent pondering, which had been the only way to keep him busy this past month, he still couldn't quite come up with his motivation for doing what he did.

Had people's dislike of him really driven him to go so far, that he would actually kill those that didn't agree with him? Was that really all the excuse he needed to do such things? Surely it wasn't really the Dark Eco that was at fault for his sins. A mere substance, lifeless as it was, couldn't cause such a change in personality. Could it? Everyone claimed that was the case, Samos and his daughter…and Kassra. They all said it, but why would they, the first two at least, be so quick to let him off that easily? Why would they want to transfer the blame to an inanimate object? Was it that their hatred of Dark Eco was stronger even than what they felt for him?

He dragged himself from where he sat slumped on the floor, right where the guards had left him, to the narrow cot by the wall, his right arm limp and useless without his glove, and laid down on his side upon its surface, the thin mattress hard and without any give, barely any better than the floor. Breathing became even more difficult in this position, but he didn't have the strength for sitting up right now. He felt dead. And he should be. He wished he was.

And the former Sage could do little else to spend his time but more of the same, thinking and coughing and hacking up the fluid that always plagued his lungs and had already grown worse in this past month than it had in the last three hundred years. Knots of pain invaded each joint, and he traced a spot on his withered arm with fingers stiff with newly returned arthritis, the spot where the tubes had once been, all that was left of his glove being small, metal bits lodged in the skin of his arm that no one had bothered to remove.

That's all he had left of his former life, his former power, just a few bits of useless metal, to remind him that he once had two working arms and far less pain, not to mention freedom and, most importantly, a sister. And over and over again, he couldn't help but list what was gone, and when he tried, he could hardly think of what was still left. Because he had nothing left. Just the woman, and how many times could she visit him here? People forget and go on with their lives. And she would, as well, but he wouldn't blame her if, when, she did. He was just an old man, a dying, old man (he could only hope), and he could serve no other purpose now than to be a burden to others. That's all he was good for, but even before his life had spiraled down into the deep, dark pit it occupied now, what had he actually accomplished but to kill thousands and to allow his dear sister to become one of those casualties?

All Gol could do now was wait and think and sleep, none of these things bringing him any comfort and none of them providing any rest for a tired, old man, but it was all he could do. It was all he was good for.

More days passed, each morning bringing with it the same anxiety he had felt during his stay in the infirmary, but for different reasons, and the same monotony continued, but in just a different form. And while all manner of thoughts raced through his mind, it did nothing to speed up the time, and though the guards brought him meager helpings of old bread and tough, dried meat, he refused to eat anything, despite the great hunger that had settled in the place where his stomach had once been, but likely no longer was. They couldn't make him, not now, nor did they care enough to, and that was just fine with him. All he bothered with was the gritty water, even if he didn't desire that, either, only drinking when the thirst became so much that he couldn't stand it anymore. But, at least this self-destructive behavior did succeed in making the days go by faster, as it allowed him to pass great quantities of time whenever his body grew too weak to stay awake, a constant state he now found himself in. And it was in this way that perhaps even more time passed than he realized, or possibly less, he really didn't know.

Until one day, he was woken up by someone gripping his arm and shaking him, an event that seemed to be one of the few less unfortunate constants in his life. But, why, oh, why was it that no one could let him sleep?

"Wake up, mister man! I've got great news!" he heard a familiar voice from above say.

And that was, quite possibly, the biggest lie he had ever heard, and there was no need for the news in question to be revealed first for him to know with absolute certainty that this was the case. He groaned, his eyes cracking open to mere slits, though he made no move further to signify he had awoken. His wish to die in his sleep, it seemed, would never be granted.

"Hey, you don't look so good," the voice continued. "How are you feeling?"

He grunted. And that meant go away.

Hint not taken, he then felt a hand, the palm slightly clammy, go to his forehead, and he attempted to push it away, an act that was impossible when he realized that the one arm still capable of movement was also the same one he was laying on. Instead, he forced himself to roll onto his stomach to avoid being subjected to her touch any more than he already had, groaning louder to show how much he disliked what she was doing.

"I was just checking to see if you had a fever. I guess you probably don't, though. Your skin is like ice."

"Maybe that's because I'm dead," he said, voice muffled, as his face was currently pressed into the sleeve of his good arm.

"Huh?"

He lifted his head, squinting back to catch sight of the very woman he knew all along to be the one responsible for his current harassment. "What do you want?"

Kassra frowned at him and crossed her arms. "Hey, I thought you'd be happy to see me."

He grew silent, a state that didn't last long when he was unable to prevent himself from hacking a few times, after which he went still again, gasping for breath, before finally answering, "I'm not happy about much of anything right now."

Gol's wheezing continued as she sat down beside him. "I'm sorry. But, I do have something that might cheer you up."

The ability to resurrect his sister? "What is it?" he asked, voice hoarse.

She lifted her hands simply to drop them onto her knees. "You won't believe it, but I actually convinced the King to let you come home with me. Since your treatments are all—"

"You're right, I don't believe it," he said, watching her out of the corner of one eye.

"Let me finish, 'kay?" She cleared her throat. And he couldn't help but envy her for just now doing something he was incapable of with such ease. "As I was saying, since he agrees that you're harmless now…"

Gol gave a dry chuckle.

"…he said it would be okay if you stayed with me from now on." She leaned forward in an effort to get a better look at his face. "You aren't feeling anymore homicidal tendencies, right?"

He turned his head to see her better. Well, as best as he could with blurred vision. "Congratulations on using such a big word."

She grinned. "Which one? 'Feeling'?"

He snorted, and she continued, "I'm going to take that as a genuine compliment." She clasped her hands together, bouncing in excitement. "So, what do you think?"

"I believe the word I meant was 'homicidal'."

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I think you don't understand what you're doing."

Her smile disappeared, and she tilted her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Gol forced himself up on one elbow, and she stood as he struggled to a sitting position before proceeding to cough again, his good hand rising to clutch at his chest. "I mean…" He wheezed. "I mean I can't stay with you."

"But—"

He held up one finger. "Let me finish. Do you really understand what you'd be doing? You're saying that you want to let one of the most hated people in the world stay at your home—"

"I-I really don't…" She laced her fingers together in front of her. "I think that's a bit…"

"And how long do you plan on keeping me there? I'm too sick to take care of myself, and—"

She dropped her hands to her sides, face growing solemn. "Forever. You could stay with me forever."

He sighed, shaking his head. "I really doubt you'd—"

"Yes, I would."

"You'd grow bored of me eventually."

She shook her head. "No, I wouldn't."

He watched her, she doing the same to him, standing stiff, as if the wrong movement could somehow hurt her case. Then, he dropped his gaze, shaking his head, eyes closed. "You really don't understand, do you? I…" He knew what happened to his dear sister, how she had been treated, just because of her mere association with him. He couldn't…

"I want you to stay with me," Kassra said in the softest voice, causing him to look up again and meet her gaze, but unlike most circumstances, he didn't look away. "I don't want you to spend the rest of your life in a cell just because… The people that had been living with me have already left to go back to Haven City, which is fine, because I'd much rather have you there." She smiled. "And with my family all gone, who else do I have?"

His gaze didn't leave her as he asked, "But…why me?"

"Why do you always ask stuff like that?"

"Because you've never given me any reasons that actually make sense."

She blinked at him, smile gone. "Well…I guess not everything has to make sense. And if you don't like the reasons I give you, maybe you'll just have to come up with some of your own that you do understand."

He raised his eyebrows at this cryptic statement, and her smile returned, wider than ever, for perhaps she knew she had won, even when he had a very different expression directed at her. She held out a hand, saying, "Come on, I'll help you up."

Letting out a breath, with no words left that he could use to try to dissuade her, if that was even possible at this point, he pushed himself to his feet, though his balance was unsteady, and she, unbidden, wrapped one arm around his. They left the palace that night under the watch of Wastelanders whose gaze he tried to avoid, taking a path that would best keep them out of the public eye, for it was still not known to the majority that he even remained alive. They went through dusty streets, his first view of Spargus from the ground, finding himself surrounded by white stucco buildings, and he imagined how very different this place must have felt to Kassra when she first arrived here after leaving behind her small, lifeless village out in the middle of nowhere.

And he noticed that, by the time they had stopped at a particular house, distinguished from the others by pots bearing shriveled plants, the woman's smile was not quite as strong as it had been, the expression only returning when she looked up at him as she unlocked the door. And it was now that he thought back to their walk here and wondered if, perhaps, their guards hadn't only been directing disdainful looks at him, but at her, as well. Then the guards were leaving with backward looks as she helped him inside, still with a hand on his arm, and he found himself in a dark room.

She tugged on his arm to proceed forward, but he stayed where he was, and she gave him one final glance he only half-saw in the moonlight streaming through the windows before she went to light a lamp, revealing a small space with a seating area and kitchen, decorated with potted plants that were doing a bit better than the ones outside, as well as a fireplace with a mantle adorned with even more figurines than he remembered in her old home.

She spun around to face him, smile returned to her lips and staying there this time now that there were no longer any shadows to hide any expression to the contrary, and she opened her arms wide. "So, this is my new place. How do you like it?"

He wobbled on his feet, and she moved to reach him again. "I like it fine."

She stopped before him, looking up and squinting one eye in mock confusion. "Are you sure? Because you usually don't like anything."

He said nothing, ready to fall asleep right where he stood despite the fact that he had been doing nothing but napping lately, and he raised a hand to rub at a forehead that hid a budding headache, before she put her arm around his once more to lead him down a short hallway off to the side, his strength waning.

"I have two bedrooms this time," she said, before they arrived in one of such rooms, half of her statement already confirmed. She lit a lamp in here, as well, and he found it to be decorated with the usual, though he recognized none of the furniture from his first stay with her, all of which was probably in her own room. And thankfully, he also noticed a shocking lack of flora. She smiled up at him. "So this is where you'll be staying."

"I arrived at much the same conclusion."

She laughed. "Well, uh…are you even tired, because you were sleeping when I found you, and…"

"It seems I can never get enough sleep lately." He looked down at her with eyes that were currently fighting to stay open. "Because I'm getting old." Well, to be more exact, he's been old. For a long time.

"Hmm, yeah…" She released his arm, and he watched her out of the corner of an eye that couldn't stop blinking as she reached into her pockets, pulling out things he hadn't even noticed she had taken, the pearl and the figurines. She held them up. "Where do you want them?"

"I don't ca—" He couldn't really be blamed for being blunt right now. If he didn't get to bed soon, he'd likely fall over right here. "I…haven't decided yet. Just put them anywhere."

Gol hobbled towards the bed, not exactly wanting to give her the appearance of surrendering to her wishes to stay here with her, even if he didn't really have any choice in the matter either way, but if he didn't sit down soon, he'd surely end up on the floor instead. He barely made it, and he dropped down to sit on the bed, before clutching his chest and forcing a strained breath. Oh, he had never felt so very old before.

"Are you okay?" she said, watching him with the objects still in hand.

No. "I'm fine. And…" He coughed. "I hope you really know what you're getting yourself into. I don't want to be…"

"Shoosh." She marched forward with a purpose, face stern, before leaning over to better see him eye-to-eye. "You're my prisoner now, mister man." And he blinked at her before her visage cracked, and she straightened up, snorting at her own failed attempt at humor. Well, he could only assume that's what that was supposed to be.

"I'm more than happy to have you here," she continued, "and I hope you won't mind my company too much, either. We'll have good times together. I promise."

He grunted, his lack of enthusiasm seemingly unnoticed as she turned to set his things on the table nearby. "Now go to sleep," she said, only now looking over to take notice of his grim expression. "I bet it'll be a lot more comfortable here than in the palace, right?" She laughed again. "Who'd ever think my humble home would be better than living in the palace?"

Gol looked up at her. "Kassra?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." Even if she was a fool for doing this. Or was he a fool for allowing it?

She watched him as if he had just said something else entirely, something unexpected, and then she said, "There's no need for that. Where else do you have to go?"

She gave him one final smile before making her leave, and once she had closed the door behind her, he glanced over at the plain, green sheets beside him, taking note of the absence of a certain kitten quilt he had had the misfortune of setting his eyes upon back when he had first met this woman. Nevertheless, despite such changes, the feel of this place was the same, and it was almost as if he had gone back in time, an entire year, before the war and his sister's death, back to when he had merely awoken in a strange woman's house, a very strange woman's house, with a broken leg and a sister that was missing, but otherwise fine. But, unlike that day so long ago, it felt like today was the start of an end rather than a beginning. And he couldn't say right now what he thought that might mean for him.

Gol's lucky he's found someone who's not picky about whom she's friends with, ha ha. And I particularly like the last two lines…. Please review.